by Roxana Valentino
Illustrations by Carson Blumen-Green
To some extent,
I feel like a ghost of a past self.
The echoing off the walls
of my head
emphasize a new-found loss
of calamity.
Awaken and quiet
the cacophony.
Forcing myself into a haze,
swallowing a metallic taste.
Slightly because I’ve lost myself inside the daze
Enveloped in the fog,
dragging.
I linger around as time blows away with days.
Where can I go?
To breathe.
And be.
And de-
compose myself.
I float above old self.
A bent spine.
I never failed to claim it as mine.
I see it from below.
oh (wo)man,
hello.